Loving the Wind
by Lock Owl
Summary: Everything is topsy-turvy for Estel right now, but he's found a solution--something to keep him grounded, so to speak. But is it a solution or a sickness? How long can he hide it? warning: self-mutilation WIP
1. Prologue

Dedication: My friend 'Estel'--I told you not to lose hope, you moron!  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Middle-earth or any recognizable characters and/or places  
  
Author's note: No, this is not a 'person-falls-into-Middle-earth' fic, this is about a Middle-earth resident you all know very well. Oh, and if you want to tell me that my writing style is childish, keep in mind that I am a child, just twelve years.  
  
*****Prologue*****  
  
"Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU!" roared the Voice, so loudly that the young boy flinched. He wished that voice was not in his head, he wished he did not have to feel that kind of pain. For the thousandth time, he wished he had not brought it upon himself. But he had, and it was too late to change that now. "Do you have any idea--" the Voice was started up again, chastising him.  
  
'Just wait,' he begged aloud, hardly aware that he had spoken. 'The water is nearly heated enough.' A wood-burning stove stood before him, a pot of water atop it. As he spoke, a solitary bubble floated to the surface of the water, wriggling like a fish gasping for air. The bubble reached the surface, and with a small noise it popped. Without a thought the boy stuck his hand into the water. It was warm, just above a comfortable temperature. 'Good.'  
  
The boy doused the fire, then leaned his face over the pot and dipped in both his hands, bringing the two-handed cup of water up to his face. The water washed away the layer of dirt that had gathered during the course of the day, along with some of the guilt. The boy took up another scoop of water a drenched his face again, trying to get himself clean. With his hands he scrubbed his skin.  
  
As he scrubbed harder and harder, the tears began to form again. They were not tears of physical pain, but tears of mental abuse. Emotions ran wild inside of him, self-pity, hatred, and anger. He suddenly formed a fist, wishing he could drive those puny fingers into the wall and break them in three places each.  
  
'If I did,' he whispered, 'if I did break all my fingers in three places each, then I would not be able to do anything anymore; feed myself, write letters and essays, or. . .or. . .'  
  
A malicious grin spread over the boy's face, and he drew back his fist, bringing it rushing forward with all the force he could manage. The fist did hit the wall, colliding with a deafening crack. White-hot pain shot up the boy's arm, and he fell to his knees, cradling his hand. What had he done? Why had he done that to himself?  
  
"I am going to be in so much trouble," he thought, writhing on the floor in pain. "So much. . ."  
  
That was his last thought before the pain became too intense, and the spots in front of his eyes grew together into a solid web of steel unconsciousness.  
  
*****  
  
I know it's not much quite yet. And I know a lot of people probably think it's OOC. Too bad. My friend is cutting, and I want her to heal, and I know this is helping her. If you don't like it, don't read it. 


	2. Chapter I

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, any recognizable characters or places.  
  
Waseom: Reactions will come in slowly. It's unsettlingly common, how many people cut for relief.  
  
Dragon: The rest of the story will get into why he was doing what he was doing. That was just the prologue! It is not scientifically unsound! Have you ever watched water boil? Small bubbles form and rise to the surface of the water. Just for the record, a watched pot does too boil.  
  
Shannon: Ah, don't we all love Aragorn angst? As for my friend, thank you for your concern. She does see a therapist, but I want her to know that people really care about her, and are there for her. Also, she and I only talk through e-mail as we live in different countries, so sometimes we write each other stories as a reminder that we've got each other. There is also some comfort in the stories.  
  
Sidh Ceili: I didn't mean any offense by that, more of a just-in-case. Thank you, and thanks from my friend (who is doing her best). Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
  
The PixieLady: Everyone's harder on their own writing than on others. Thank you!  
  
Evil Strasse: Thanks!  
  
Losseniaiel: I'm sorry you had to go through that. Elrond is. . .well, you'll see. He's in this chapter, then in the next, and I haven't really planned a chapter after that.  
  
Karana: Thanks, and what is "IMO"?  
  
Aragorn Elessar who-is-too-lazy-to-log-in: The "why" is coming up, it will take a few chapters to explain. The voice is basically his conscience, only it's a bit like. . .did you ever read "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden"? If you did, it's like that. (if not, I'll explain what that means next chapter)  
  
Runaround: Thanks for that constructive tip. The prologue was just a little thing written while I was supposed to be doing homework, but I will try to do better in later chapters with description.  
  
KitKatGirl: You'll see why. And woohoo! Twelve years forever! (or, in my case, for the next few months)  
  
Jukia: Hey, your man is beating himself up! I did e-mail, not sure if you got it.  
  
Dinwen: Is your friend all right? My friend is at the hardest point right now.  
  
MidnightLoner: Thanks. It's good to know that you did not cut yourself, it is a terrible thing to do.  
  
Verona and Godforsaken: I never said I was an expert on mental illness. However, I know my friend extremely well. If she knows there is a person out there who will support her, someone to get better for, she is going to throw her habit out the window and never look back. You can be as skeptical as you want to--I don't doubt that you have encountered such a problem and it was ugly--but this is what I can do for my friend. Are you telling me to leave her alone, let her cut? I have no such apathetic bone in my body.  
  
Dragon and Aragorn Elessar: I think you guys know a friend of mine! Does either of you recall a writer by the name of JediKnightBalthasar? I've heard her talk about you, I think.  
  
*****  
  
"Estel?" Elladan called out his younger brother's name. Elladan's worry about the child had increased slowly over the past few weeks. Now he felt flutters in his chest, nervousness activated. Estel had been late for supper and Elladan immediately volunteered to go find him, hoping to confront him. Though firm in his beliefs, Elladan was apprehensive about approaching his brother.  
  
"Estel, are you--" Elladan paused. The door, which he had so mindlessly shoved, banged loudly against the wall. "Estel, are you all right?" Elladan asked worriedly, as he ran to his brother's side. "What happened? Are you hurt?"  
  
"I. . ." Estel whispered, then he nodded. Overwhelming pain encased him, and he let himself go.  
  
"Hold on, you will be all right," Elladan promised, lifting Estel's seemingly spiritless body into his arms. He had known things were bad, but this? This was worse than he could have imagined.  
  
*****  
  
Estel was just over eleven years old when it occurred to the Elflings that he would be an easy target. The others, his friends who were then too young for him to play with, had been very nice, not caring that he was different. Because of this, or perhaps in spite of it, Estel had never realized just how much it mattered that he was unlike them, or at all how unlike other Elves he was.  
  
"Round-eared" was the first of the taunts. Soon to follow were "ephemeral", mutt", and--worst of all--"bastard child". The last might not have been so bad, were it not for the fact that Estel had believed that Lord Elrond was his father. When he told the others this, they laughed at him. "Go and ask him," one Elfling had told Estel. "Go ask Lord Elrond who your father is."  
  
Estel had not done this, but he had spent the entire night lying awake in bed, tugging angrily at his ears, pinching them and wishing they would stay that way. Was he so different? The question raced through his young mind. Was he worse than the others? Was his difference so bad? It had never occurred to him that he was not directly related to Elrond. Were the others right?  
  
All these questions bothered Estel. The next morning, unable to take the taunts of his so-called mates any longer, he sped to the library after breakfast and stayed there all the time, except for meals. He had plenty of things left yet to learn, and learn he did--to a degree of excellence. After a spell his haven had worn out.  
  
"Are you trying to prove that you are the equivalent of an Elf in any way?" Anterrabae, an older and particularly malicious Elfling, drawled.  
  
"Go away, Anterrabae," Estel growled, not even lowering his book.  
  
"Come now, mortal-mutt, do not be so silly. There is no reason to be cruel to me simply for knowing the facts," Anterrabae said with innocence.  
  
"Leave me alone!" Estel shouted, slamming his book to the table in front of him. Anterrabae smiled slyly, knowing he had gotten to the boy.  
  
"You have no control over me," the Elfling stated. Estel's teeth clenched, his fists tightening, and he jumped at Anterrabae.  
  
"Do not ever make fun of me again!" Estel shouted. "I swear on my honour, I swear I will kill you!" He pummeled the Elfling who, having been caught unawares, had not managed to put up a defense.  
  
When Elrond found the two, he pulled a flailing Estel off Anterrabae. "Estel!" he admonished. "You are not a savage and you are not to act like one!"  
  
"He started it!" Estel protested. "It was his fault, anyway. I would have left him alone if he had not--"  
  
"I started nothing, Lord Elrond," a bloodied Anterrabae said, shakily getting to his feet. "Estel attacked me."  
  
"Is this true?" Elrond asked Estel.  
  
"Yes, sir," Estel replied, shame burning up his cheeks. He had attacked Anterrabae. It was entirely his fault.  
  
"Estel," Elrond said, clearly angry but trying not to show it, "please go to your room."  
  
"But Ada--" Estel whined, but Elrond interrupted him.  
  
"I am not asking, Estel."  
  
"Yes, sir." Estel hung his head as he slunk out of the room. Anterrabae did his best not to laugh.  
  
**  
  
It took a good five hours for Estel to feel sorry for what he had done. Once he stopped thinking angry thoughts, he began to realize that he had done wrong. Once he realized he was wrong, his pride stopped him from being willing to apologize. As soon as his pride had worn down, a pyjama-pants- clad boy slipped out into the corridor.  
  
It was dark, well after Estel's bedtime, perhaps ten o'clock at night. However, Estel was nearly a teenager. He knew well enough that the world did not go to sleep when he did, and was more or less certain that Elrond did not go to sleep for many hours after his sons' well-enforced bedtime. Oh, how Elladan and Elrohir grumbled about that!  
  
Estel paused outside Elrond's study. He was about to knock when he heard voices from within. "I do not know what got into him," Elrond was saying. "Estel is a good boy, he usually does not fight with others. Something serious must have happened to make him attack that boy."  
  
"Perhaps he just wants attention. Remember how Arwen used to get into quarrels when she was jealous of the boys?" That was Glorfindel speaking.  
  
"It hardly seems likely. Estel cowers at the very mention of trouble."  
  
'I do not!' Estel mouthed angrily. He was not some little boy--not in his opinion, at least--who shook at the merest mention of authority. Having heard enough, Estel crept away, forgetting his intentions. He would apologize tomorrow.  
  
"I just do not know what to do, Glorfindel," Elrond concluded. "Clearly something is upsetting Estel very badly, and I have to discern a way to discover what it is, and at the same time make him understand that fighting is wrong, without losing my head."  
  
"That boy was rather beat-up, Elrond," Glorfindel said warily. "Maybe the boy--"  
  
"Call him by his name, Glorfindel, he is a person."  
  
"All I am saying is that he might not be as upset as you make him out to be."  
  
**  
  
That night, Estel had an idea. It was not brilliant, but it seemed that way to him. It would solve all his problems. . .  
  
*****  
  
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Self-mutilation may not enter for another chapter or two, but I want to set the scene first. Oh, did anyone catch the allusion in this chapter? I would like to know if you did. 


	3. Chapter II

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places  
  
KitKatGirl: Actually, the allusion was the name Anterrabae, originally seen in Hannah Green's I Never Promised You a Rose Garden. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
*****  
  
"Ada, Estel is hurt," Elladan said. Estel was lying on his bed where Elladan had left him, unconscious, tears falling from his eyes and his hand cradled to his chest.  
  
Elrond looked up at once, alarmed. "Hurt how?" he asked.  
  
"I cannot say," Elladan replied, "but he seems to be in a lot of pain."  
  
*****  
  
Estel gave his idea of fair warning. "Leave me alone," he said, "or else." After that he did not speak to the Elflings, did not taunt them or try to aggravate them. This courtesy, however, was not repaid. The Elflings set in at once, teasing about how a "round-eared mutt" could do nothing, and what was he going to do, tell on them?  
  
The mortal boy waited until things got so bad he could not take it. His blood boiled and he sprang to his feet. "I warned you," he said, and he punched the nearest boy in the face. Because no one expected this of Estel, the "wimp", this was the second time someone was caught off guard. None of them had seen Anterrabae yet, either.  
  
A fight with one boy is one thing, but a fight with a group. . .that's another thing altogether. Estel was pounding away at his chosen opponent when strong hands lifted him off the Elfling. He hardly knew what was going on until a blow to his stomach forced him to double over in pain--or would have, had he not been held up.  
  
Half an hour later Estel picked himself up off the ground, a stream of blood dribbling from his mouth. "I must look awful," he muttered, and he felt equally horrid. Walking was difficult for him, but leaning against walls and trees he managed, stumbling down a corridor in a dizzy state. "Ada?" Estel asked, pausing in a doorway. He did not know where he was, but he had heard voices.  
  
Lord Elrond, conversing with his twin sons, turned, not expecting Estel's physically state to reflect the worn tone of his voice. Their eyes met for a moment before Estel slumped to the ground, conscious but exhausted. "Estel, what happened?" Elrond asked.  
  
"I fell down," Estel lied. "A lot of stairs," he added, grabbing at a pain in his side. Elrond frowned, knowing well that Estel did not fall down a flight of stairs, but Estel was hurt rather badly.  
  
"Now, Estel," Elrond said after tending to all the wounds Estel could identify, and some he was numb to. "You lost rather badly. They must have outnumbered you."  
  
"The stairs?" Estel asked. "Twenty to one, I would guess." He knew that Elrond was trying to get him to admit it, or trip up and say something wrong, but he would not let that happen. He had to face this, to deal with it, on his own.  
  
"Come now, Estel, I know exactly what happened," Elrond said.  
  
"That is because I told you, Ada: I tripped and fell down the stairs." When Estel was younger, Elladan had told him about this lie. 'I used it,' Elladan said, 'so did Elrohir. Glorfindel, in fact, used it in his childhood. It is ages old, and will never abandon you.'  
  
"You do not need to lie to me, Estel." This was even more unbelievable than when Arwen and the twins had claimed that the same reason caused them to come in with bruises forming, despite the fact that it would take a very hard shove to get an Elf off their balance.  
  
"I am not lying to you, Ada," Estel replied, his voice somehow innocent.  
  
This went on for days. Elrond did everything he could to keep Estel from fighting--for he knew that it was fights that battered him up so badly. Imposing a curfew was no good, for Estel seemed to be able to get into three fights before the day had even begun. By the time Elrond realized that Estel was breaking curfew regularly, anyway, another change had taken place: Estel was beginning to win more and more fights.  
  
Curfew did not help, and neither did extra studies--Estel's mental abilities seemed to be decreasing, in fact. Everything had to be explained to him over and over again, until he at last caught on--but when he did catch on, everything seemed as easy and as natural as breathing.  
  
"What should I do, Glorfindel?" Elrond asked in despair. "The more I try, the more he seems to fight. Now Estel is getting better at fighting, and Elladan wants to teach him even more!" Why was it that Elven children and Edain had such different problems? Elrond knew what to do for the problems his sons had faced, and the many that Arwen had encountered but. . .  
  
Glorfindel shook his head. What trouble children were! "Look at what happens, Elrond. When you are attentive, he fights more. He only wants your attention. If you stopped giving him what he wanted, perhaps he in turn would stop fighting when he realized it was useless. Estel is a smart child."  
  
"Then how do you account for his studies?" Elrond asked, amused. Of course, Estel's studies were another problem--the boy who was at first eager to learn Quenya now seemed to be forgetting it!  
  
But Glorfindel again had an answer. "Who is helping him study?"  
  
"It is not as though I can simply shut him out."  
  
"No, but you could show him that positive attention and negative attention are different things."  
  
"How you know all this is completely beyond me, Glorfindel, but I am glad you do," Elrond replied.  
  
Glorfindel smirked. "I had a friend once, who had six children. Can you imagine?"  
  
Elrond rested his head in his hands. "Three is plenty!"  
  
**  
  
Estel won his next fight. His eye was swelling, bruises were forming on his chest, and blood poured from his lip, but he had won. The other boys had scattered when Anterrabae fell, none of them relishing the idea of the trouble connected with fights.  
  
Proudly, if limping, Estel made his way inside. When Elrond saw him he did not sigh or ask questions as he usually did, but took care of Estel's wounds without saying a word. "I won," Estel said, trying to get some response. "I smashed Anterrabae's face to a bloody pulp, and knocked him unconscious." Still no reply. "Maybe I killed him."  
  
Estel was baffled by the lack of response. He always got in trouble for being in fights, which always satisfied his cravings for attention. This time he had even admitted it, and nothing had happened. What was he doing wrong?  
  
The next day Estel lost in a fight, and still no response. He admitted to losing, he even named the Elflings involved in the fight, but there was no reply to any of it. 'Well, if Ada does not care about my fights,' Estel resolved as he lay awake one night, 'then I shall simply stop having them.'  
  
But things were not that simple. Estel may have wanted to resolve his conflicts with words, but the other Elflings wanted to resolve their conflicts with fists. They were used to Estel the fighter, and not about to accept Estel the diplomat.  
  
"What, now your /Ada/ is not letting you fight?" Anterrabae squawked. Estel ignored him. "Can you not speak? Or have you just realized that you are so lowly, as compared to us, that your speech is unworthy?"  
  
That was too much. It had gotten to the point that Estel would not take it. He sprang from his position on the rafter, slamming hard into Anterrabae. The two fought for what seemed like hours, first one winning then the other. Finally Anterrabae released his prey and stood, Estel too exhausted to even move.  
  
Elrond could think of nothing to do. He had not seen the fights, but he knew they were still taking place. His son bore the scars to prove this. At a loss, he decided to confront Estel about it directly.  
  
"Estel?" Elrond called quietly, knocking on the door to Estel's room. "Estel, may I come in please?" When there was no response, a slightly hurt Elrond opened the door anyway, closing it behind him before moving forward to sit on the edge of Estel's bed. The lump under the covers that was Estel seemed to tighten. "Why are you doing this?" Elrond asked.  
  
Estel did not respond. 'If I am asleep, he will go away, if I am asleep, he will go away. . .' Estel thought over and over.  
  
"I know you are awake."  
  
Estel rolled over, sticking his head slightly out from beneath the covers. "I have not fought with anyone since Anterrabae, two days ago." It was true. By much time in solitude, Estel had managed not to fight once. Elrond smiled.  
  
"I know. I am very proud of you."  
  
"Ada!" Estel exclaimed suddenly, in a blur flying to Elrond and hugging the Elf. He had noticed! All at once Estel realized that it felt so much better being hugged for something he had done right than it did to be spanked for something he had done wrong, and he began to cry and could not stop.  
  
"You understand, then, that it is wrong to use violence to resolve a conflict? And in the future you will try not to do this?" Elrond asked.  
  
"Yes, yes, I will try," Estel promised. Silently, he added to himself, 'And I will succeed.'  
  
*****  
  
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Mwu ha ha! That's all for now, but there's more coming. Don't worry, things may be looking up for the little guy now, but. . .well, I don't want to spoil it! 


	4. Chapter III

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places.  
  
Orion: Thanks! Of course there's more, I haven't tortured the boy quite enough yet--and my friend is still cutting, so I can't call it quits yet. : )  
  
*****  
  
Elrond was glad that Estel was unconscious--this was really going to hurt him. As gently as possible he repositioned the two broken bones in Estel's hand, hoping the boy could not feel anything. Blood flowed freely from ragged cuts, and had had to be cleaned off before any damage could be assessed.  
  
"How did this happen to you?" Elrond asked no one in particular. At the sound of a familiar voice Estel stirred, his eyes opened slightly. But he snapped shut his eyes again, upon seeing who it was that spoke. "You are awake, Estel," Elrond stated in a vague sort of angry tone.  
  
Estel blushed as he opened his eyes again.  
  
"Who did this to you? Who were you fighting?" Elrond demanded. At once he regretted it; his son was in great pain and all he could do was shout at him?  
  
Estel shook his head, somewhere between reluctantly and fervently.  
  
*****  
  
Elladan and Elrohir knew at once what was going on when Estel asked if he might spend the day with them. They were not thrown off by his multitude of lies, creative and well-developed as they were, but they humored Estel, for his intentions were good and his aims true. For many hours the twins were bombarded with questions--"What is this?" "How does this happen?" "What would happen if?"--which they found difficult to endure. Estel was doing his absolute best not to be unobtrusive, and as any loving brother would Elladan and Elrohir withstood.  
  
So things went on, with Estel finding a grown Elf to cling to until he was sent away. He did not see that his presence began something of a burden upon occasion. After a time Estel had so much pent-up energy that he began carrying notes between the twins and their father, and enjoyed his dashing from place to place with notes clutched in his hands--until he heard something he would rather have missed.  
  
". . .you keep defending him I cannot understand."  
  
"You just do not understand children, Glorfindel," Elrond replied. "Maybe Estel does not meet the great expectations set before him--yet. But you must have faith that, in time, he will."  
  
"It is more than that," Glorfindel said. "He hardly seems civil or moral, Elrond--and I mean you no offense by this, you do the best you can with him, but--"  
  
Glorfindel did not finish, because suddenly the sound of boots squeaking against the floor as someone ran quite quickly interrupted him, and Elrond stood at once and gazed down the corridor. "He heard you," Elrond said. He was rather angry, as angry as he ever was, because even if Estel was not ethical--that is, did not follow the codes of conduct of society--he was moral, following his own code of conduct, and he tried as hard as any boy could.  
  
Elrond's thoughts, sadly, could not reach Estel's head. The boy ran hard, out into the blinding sunlight of the afternoon, and, with incredible bad luck, right into Anterrabae. "Well, look who it is!" Anterrabae spat venom. "Little round-eared mortal-mutt back for more?" he asked, not even bothering with "formalities".  
  
"Do not speak to me like that, Anterrabae," Estel requested, or demanded.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Anterrabae taunted, "make me?"  
  
Estel did. In seconds he had pinned Anterrabae to the ground and was pummeling him with a strength of anger few had ever seen before. Estel himself had not seen this anger, nor felt it, not since that day in the library, but it felt good. Anger, letting go--it was liberation.  
  
And every liberation came with a price. Estel, exhausted, stood up at exactly the wrong time. "Oh, Estel," Elrond muttered, and shook his head. Estel was paralyzed with some unknown emotion. The release he had felt moments before drained away, as Anterrabae slunk off behind him. Just as Estel opened his mouth to speak, Elrond turned and slowly walked away.  
  
That night Estel did not leave his room, by choice, not even to wash the blood from his hands and face. He stripped off his tunic and used that as a towel, pulling the red from his skin. Splotches appeared and grew on the fabric. Estel enjoyed watching them expand.  
  
There came a knock at the door, and a call of, "Estel, are you all right?"  
  
For a moment Estel dared hope it was Elrond, and that he had not failed so miserably, but his hope was in vain. "I am fine, Elladan! Please leave me in peace!"  
  
"Aye, brother," Elladan replied, and added to himself, "if this is what you call peace."  
  
Estel heard his brother's words, and threw the soiled tunic at the door, shouting, "It is, I'll have you know!" He felt terrible after that, having hurt Elladan's feelings for no reason other than pride, but he did not find Elladan or call out an apology. Instead he stood before the mirror and hated himself. Estel ran a sweat hand over the sun-colored flesh of his arm, noting that all his bruises of fights had gone away. Amazingly all his bruises and scratches seemed to have healed well.  
  
"And what right of mine is that?" he asked himself. "A bruise is a badge--a badge of shame, but also there is redemption, for the showing of shame brings humility and absolves the dishonor of one's offenses. Bear me now, my shame, as I bear you, and absolve yourself of me."  
  
As he spoke these words Estel's mind sought freedom and found it, pulling lightly a small knife from beneath his pillow--paranoia courtesy of Elrohir's own. The metal caught a glint of the setting sun and flared, blinding had anyone been watching, as a ship that sends off a sign for help. Estel brought the bright tip to his arm and felt it poke through. A cool, calm feeling spread through him, from somewhere deep in his chest and throughout his limbs and mind. He pulled the blade across his flesh, feeling release.  
  
Sweet, sweet release.  
  
**  
  
Fifteen minutes later Estel was still sprawled on the floor, enjoying the feeling of his shame seeping away with the blood--but the cut was clotting, and the blood needed to be mopped up lest suspicion be aroused. Snapping into action, Estel retrieved the dirty tunic from earlier and used it to sop up the blood on the floor, then held it against his arm.  
  
"What am I going to do?" he asked, worried. "Someone will see this laceration, I am gong to be found at once!"  
  
"Who will care?" asked a sly voice he had never heard before, a voice dripping with malice. "You think Lord Elrond cares about you? It does not seem likely, after the way you disappointed him today. Elladan is still angry at you for your words, and Elrohir will side by his twin. Who will care about lowly little you?"  
  
"W-who are you?" Estel was frightened. Whoever it was, he wished they would reveal themselves. "Show yourself!"  
  
"Show myself?" the voice cackled. "You are young, boy! But do not worry. . .you shall soon know me very well. You need not be afraid. I will not hurt you."  
  
Estel closed his eyes lightly and breathed deeply, unsure of what to think. He let his thoughts flow freely, though lingering about them was that slimy, malicious voice he had heard before. "All right," he decided at last. "All right." 


	5. Chapter IV

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof.  
  
Saera: O.k., o.k.!  
  
Starfish of the Elves: I understand your concerns. However, this story was written for a girl who is very, very dark, and what the Elves did to Estel is similar to what the other children used to do to her. However, you will see that in the end of this story, the Elflings do realize that what they did was wrong and they do apologize. Mostly they were following Anterrabae, who was very insecure himself.  
  
*****  
  
"Estel, please. . ." Elrond reached out to caress the boy, but Estel drew away. Almost two years. . .Estel knew it well, and Elrond realized it for the first time. Shortly after he stopped fighting, Estel had stopped allowing himself to be touched. "How did you hurt your hand?" Elrond asked once more, and Estel burst into hysterics.  
  
It was another thing he had missed: crying. Another thing he had been unable to do. Now his tears ran wild, and he was ashamed of them. Estel curled into a ball, hugging the wall and trying to be as tiny as possible. "I'm sorry," he half-sobbed, half-hiccuped. "I cannot tell. . .I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. . ."  
  
*****  
  
Estel awoke tired and weak. He knew not why either emotion had come to him, for it had been a deep and dreamless sleep. "Perhaps I only wish to return to my sleep," Estel muttered as he splashed water on his face, trying to wake himself up. It was in doing this that he remembered his earlier actions.  
  
"No. . ." he moaned. "All right," he said with resolve, calming himself. "I am going to tell Ada. I will tell him today, as soon as I get the chance, and then this will all be over."  
  
"Tell him? How will that help you?" it was that awful Voice again, the one Estel had hoped never to hear. "You have failed him. He no longer loves you. You lost that privilege, by not keeping your hands clean of blood."  
  
"I will apologize," Estel replied, suddenly unsure. "I will tell him that what I did was wrong, and that I am sorry for it. Surely he will understand." The Voice did not reply, but laughed as though it highly doubted Estel's plan. "It hardly matters what you think," he replied, then dressed and left the room, hoping to leave the Voice behind.  
  
The morning passed quickly for Estel, whose palms sweated with fear. Though he had resolved to tell Elrond and he meant to, a part of him was still quite afraid and uncertain of this plan. When at last Estel found a moment, and the courage, to speak up, this meeker side won out. "Ada?" Estel asked quietly.  
  
"Yes?" Elrond replied. His voice was normal, but the look in his eyes was so cold that Estel shuddered.  
  
"Never mind. . ." he muttered, walking away slowly, at first, then picking up the pace and running. He stopped only when he had burst into his room, panting, and closed the door behind him. Sure of his privacy Estel sank to the ground, burying his head in his knees and shaking with something between anger at himself and severe disappointment. "I tried, I tried to do the right thing," he whispered.  
  
"But you could not."  
  
"Not you! Go away, leave me alone!"  
  
"But do you not see, Estel? I am all you have left. Without me, you really are alone."  
  
Estel shuddered once more. The Voice spoke true. . ."Why does no one care for me any longer? Things were not always this way. Once I had a family. Now all I have is you, and I wish I did not have you." Estel's life was sadder as he reflected upon it and his current situation.  
  
"My but you are pathetic," the Voice agreed. Estel suddenly felt something boil up within him. It could have been anger, for it was similar, but it was stronger than that, deeper. It hurt in his chest and took up the space where the air belonged. He could no longer stand it. With an animalistic cry he grabbed his knife and slashed a deep mark onto his leg.  
  
Once this was done he felt drained. Sweat matted his hair to his head as if in great exertion, and his chest heaved with every heavy breath his took. His teeth ground against each other. His shoulders moved quickly up and down, in rhythm with his chest. All of him seemed to be very, very cold and burning hot at once. "You see? Elrond will be no help to you. . .look how you are only thinking about him."  
  
Estel nodded as he mopped the blood from his new cut. He did not realize that he was listening intently to the Voice speak, but he heard every word it said.  
  
**  
  
It would be a week before Estel attempted again to speak to Elrond about his "problem". Not once more had he taken a blade to his own flesh, so that he had given himself two cuts, which were now healing. He had worn long pants and sleeves to cover the incriminating evidence. When he was ready, he would tell Elrond and perhaps the twins, and they would help him--but not before he was ready.  
  
This time he wrote a note, hoping that if he did not have to speak he would not be frightened out of action. In the dead of night--or as close as Estel could approximate, for the moon was high in the sky--Estel crept down a corridor which he recalled being considerably shorter. The door which he knew led to Elrond's study seemed to be not a simple fifteen paces but a mile or more--and Estel, at last, reached his destination! Trembling, he pushed the note under the door, then he bolted.  
  
The rest of that night Estel hid beneath the sheets, shivering like mad. "At least I no longer have to tell anyone," Estel thought, "at least the secret is out." When he finally did fall asleep, he was curled into a ball like a cat, his thumb in his mouth, a habit he had dropped years ago. He awoke stretched out, feeling greatly relieved.  
  
Estel overslept, and subsequently found himself having missed breakfast by nearly two hours. With this in mind he decided Elrond must know by now about his. . .mishap, and happily got out of bed and went to find Elrond. This would be a difficult discussion, likely the most difficult of his life, but at least he could get it over with--and get that Voice away from him once and or all. Though it had not done him wrong yet, something inside warned him against that disembodied Voice.  
  
"Ada, Ada!" Estel cried, scurrying down the corridor once more. This day seemed to shorten the corridor, and Estel burst into Elrond's study at once. "Ada!" he cried once more.  
  
Elrond looked up, surprised. "Estel? Is something the matter?"  
  
Estel's heart sank. He noticed that his note was still on the floor, beneath his feet now. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "No. Nothing is. I. . .I am just fine. . ." in one fluid motion he stooped to pick up the note and was out the door, slamming it behind him. 'Elrond probably hates me,' he thought. 'Let him!'  
  
Back in his room Estel buried the note deep inside of his pillowcase. "See if I ever trust you again, you stupid Elf," he muttered angrily, punching the pillow before he knew what he was doing. "You could have. . .stopped this. . .feeling. But you. . .did not. . .even. . .notice!" Feathers flew as he hit harder and harder. One tickled his nose and he stopped, sneezing himself back to his senses.  
  
"Estel? Who do you speak to?"  
  
Estel whirled around to see Elladan standing, leaning against the doorframe. "Do you know that it is polite to knock?" he asked irritably.  
  
"You left the door open," Elladan replied, not argumentative but simply corrective. "I am only concerned for your welfare--"  
  
"You still ought to have knocked," Estel interrupted.  
  
"All right, Estel. If it will make you happy, I shall leave and knock, all right?" Elladan backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Estel jumped to his feet, crossed the room as fast as he could, and locked the door just as Elladan knocked. "May I come in?"  
  
"No," Estel replied coldly. "Keep out." 


	6. Chapter V

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."  
  
-William Shakespeare, Hamlet  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof.  
  
Helen T: Please don't. Don't hurt yourself, I mean, it seems such an easy solution but there are people who care about you, and bullies are really just insecure. Even if it feels like there is no one who cares, there may well be someone you cannot see--me, for one. So please just remember that bullies are like flamers: insecure people who need to tease another to feel good about themselves.  
  
Saera: Score! You finally said more than "More now"! Lol, sorry, I don't mean any offense. Good hearing from you!  
  
Liz: Thank you.  
  
Lady of the Forest: Heh heh, thanks, and I have posted more! The twins are adults, but the type of adult that never forgets how to be a child, if you know what I mean.  
  
*****  
  
"Ada?"  
  
Elrond looked up in surprise to see his twins standing in the doorway to Estel's room, their hands clasped together for comfort or perhaps for fear. He had forgotten about them, for the time, and the last thing he expected was for them to interrupt as he sought for the proper thing to do about poor Estel. "Yes?" he asked.  
  
"May we speak to Estel a moment please?" Elladan asked.  
  
At first Elrond was uncertain, and felt very protective of Estel and unwilling to allow anyone else access to the boy. Then he came to his senses. These were Estel's brothers, after all, and they knew him as well as anyone. "Of course."  
  
*****  
  
Six weeks passed. Estel would not have known it, had he not been reminded, but the anniversary of his birth came and went, and he was ten and two years old and felt none the better for it. But that was just it: Estel was beginning to feel better about himself. Whenever trouble came to him, whenever he had those strange feelings of unexplained anger that he was sure no one else felt, he took a little blood from himself, and was content.  
  
One night, as Estel returned to his room after a long day spent mostly imitating twists and spins of swordplay, the sun sank below the line of trees and the moon began to rise. Estel lit a candle, only one, but with so much light from the moon the room was alight. He set the candle on the dresser and stood before the mirror. With slow fingers Estel unbuttoned his shirt, staring into his own eyes as he began with the collar. His limbs felt slow and heavy as Estel shrugged off his shirt, allowing it to fall lifelessly to the floor. Now he felt completely naked, despite his pants and undershirt, which sufficed to cover only his stomach and chest. His arms, covered all over with worms of pink, healing, scaly skin, evoked a certain pride within him.  
  
"You manage yourself now," the Voice said. "No longer do your emotions rule you, and no longer do you earn a place in the negative opinions of the others you cannot stop caring about." This last bit was added with scorn, as though Estel ought to be able to simply shut off his feelings altogether.  
  
It is difficult to say whether Estel ignored the scorn, or simply did not take notice it. He said simply, "Yes." His voice was without emotion, almost empty, as though he would have agreed to anything the Voice said.  
  
Of course, Estel's eyes departed from their mirrored twins in good time, and he then changed from his daytime clothing for the loose tunic of night. Half-heartedly Estel kicked his dirty clothes into the pile, which had developed since the day he gave up the hope of ever being able to get on without his knife. And, as he had every day since he began learning the art of the sword and sweating more water than he knew how to drink (he had learned, of course), Estel collapsed into bed beneath the coverlet, which he kicked off every night in his sleep.  
  
But although Estel rested, those Elves that he "could not stop caring about" had their own worries to keep them up. Elladan, who had always taken the role of eldest very seriously, noticed the changes in the youngest: his quietness, his solitude. Estel had always had a peculiar habit of being optimistic about everything. He might show up at supper one night with a two black eyes, one old one new, and say, "Look, Ada, I'm symmetrical!" for the application of knowledge was another thing that greatly pleased him. Now, if he spoke, it was never so pleasant. He had developed an odd habit of bathing daily, as opposed to his usual once-in-a-month, or perhaps once- in-a-week routine. What was going on? Elladan could not help but worry, and it kept him awake nightly.  
  
Elrohir suspected that Estel had simply, somehow, awakened to the darkness of the world around him, for Elrohir was not driven by any such paternal instinct as Elladan, and had spent much time brooding, which resulted in a rather pessimistic attitude. However, Elrohir worried for Elladan, who sometimes carried his worry for others too far and forgot himself and his own well being. As far as this worry went, Elrohir did not know what to do but look out, so that Elladan remembered that there were supposed to be three meals a day, not three a week, and that the world still revolved no matter how strange Estel became.  
  
Elladan, not to be outdone, noticed his twin's forgetting to eat and such. "Elrohir," Elladan had prodded at supper that night, "you should eat something." Elrohir was somewhat easier to lend a hand to, as Elladan could depend upon him to be mature and, with an occasional reminder, care for himself.  
  
Elrond had more trouble than the others, being not a brother but a father, and having, in place of brotherly companions, children. Despite Elladan and Elrohir being adults of their own now, Elrond had not given up gently directing them and trying to shape their characters. And, of course, looking after them. Estel was more of a concern than the twins, for while they had one to care for another, Estel had only himself, and was not old enough to look after himself. Unfortunately, he was at that age when all children reject their parents, and while Elrond had the skill of subtlety to prod Estel in the right direction, Estel no longer seemed to hear him at all, for Estel was slipping a bit.  
  
The next morning, Estel leapt from his bed with a happy mood he had not felt in a decent while. His eyes moved over his possession, strewn about the room, and he was disappointed. "Clothes first," he said, but he did not mean to don any. Instead he located the cloth bag that he used to use to contain clothes too dirty to wear again without washing. Then he lifted each soiled item and placed it in the bag. Once this was finished, the floor had nearly become visible again.  
  
At breakfast none of the four looked as usual. Elrohir, Elladan, and Elrond had dark smudges beneath their eyes, for none had slept the night before, and their movements were slow and slothly. Estel had neglected to dress, not on purpose but simply out of the hunger of hours spent cleaning his room. So one sweaty, flushed, smiling, pyjama-clad boy and three tired, confused-looking Elves convened as the oddest group of fast-breakers in all of Arda.  
  
Suddenly, though, things were well again. Estel's smile set into motion a chain of events so very good that the sadness of the past was nearly forgotten. Estel was more pleased than ever: the ones he could not help but love were happy, and he had himself completely under control. 


	7. Chapter VI

Disclaimer: Too lazy. See earlier chapter.  
  
KitKatGirl: Well, vitamins are good for you--you ought to take them (heh, I'm not anyone to talk). Estel's "control" was in self-injury. He was justifying it, which cutters often do. Of course I'm still going to update!  
  
Saera: Wait. . .kill us AND eat us alive? Oh, one by the other, right? Not in that order, of course. What bunnies?  
  
Nihtfyr: No, that wasn't the end. Thanks. I don't see any problem with Mary- Sues, if people like to read them, but I do not try to write them myself. He didn't "go around cutting himself just because he was teased". I don't mind that you call him OOC, that's kinda the point (how complete healing can be), but it wasn't just the teasing. In part it was, of course, because when you are in a situation like that it really does hurt. My friend in America went through something like it years ago, and she still suffers the consequences today. Estel was also cutting because he was so disappointed in himself for disappointing Elrond. Cutting is a release.  
  
Blackbird: Thanks. I haven't, either, so this story is really just a shot in the dark. The word is actually caught, not catched--I'm not trying to be mean, just helpful. Your bio says you don't know English that well. Cool name, by the way. Probably not after the song?  
  
Jessie-Greenleaf: Thanks! Ah, reading. . .so nice. . .evil school assigning too much homework. Know any good young-Estel fics?  
  
Lady of the Forest: Thanks. It must be, for him to have something to rely on. Even having a twin can be nice, I know from experience--Casey and I may fight, but when we do get on, we're not quite Elladan and Elrohir, but maybe Daisy and Demi (Little Men). Estel, however, would be an odd entrance, because one must imagine that Elladan and Elrohir are very close. If they can welcome Estel into their circle without any jealousy or anything, that would be amazing--I imagine they did a wonderful job of it, too.  
  
*****  
  
"Estel," Elladan said gently. When his brother did not turn to him, and only responded with a shake of his body, Elladan climbed beside him on the bed. Estel tried to shrink away, but Elladan scooted carefully next to him, gently extending his arm and holding the mortal. "Shh. . ."  
  
"Elladan. . ."  
  
"What is it, brother? I told you before that I do not like to see you hurting. We love you, Estel. We want to help."  
  
"Why? Do you love me, that is. Why."  
  
Elladan did not reply, but shook his brother gently, keeping an arm around him. Turning to Elrohir, Elladan mouthed a single word. Elrohir nodded, and turned from the room, leaving the two together. "Oh, Estel," Elladan sighed, laying his head on the other boy's shoulder.  
  
*****  
  
"What are you doing?" Estel heard a voice asked. A feeling of dread came over him, as his first thought was, 'Ada.' The last thing he needed was trouble, the last thing he wanted. . .all though, he had to admit, he felt a lot better now that Anterrabae wasn't pummeling him. "Did you hear me? I asked you what you were doing." It wasn't Elrond. He didn't get angry like that. Estel opened one eye slowly, and was surprised to see Elladan standing with his shoulders rounded and turned in, looking fully frightening, talking to Anterrabae.  
  
"I was just playing," Anterrabae said. "It is a game." Does that work? Estel wondered. He had heard 'I fell down the stairs', but never that it was just a game. Elladan did not look pleased, but Anterrabae really sealed things when he said, "What do you care, anyway? He's only a mortal."  
  
"Only a--only a mortal? That mortal is my brother. And if I ever see you hit him again, if I ever hear of you hitting him again, you will have to deal with me. And yes, I am bigger than you, and yes, I am stronger than you. I could kill you with my bare hands if I wanted. So do not ever touch my brother again, am I clear?"  
  
Anterrabae nodded. He was afraid to move. The two stood for a moment, staring each other down, then Elladan twitched and Anterrabae ran. Elladan cackled and turned to Estel, still lying on the ground, to offer a hand. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Why did you do that?" Estel asked, brushing the dust from the front of him and Elladan brushed off his back. "You don't need to protect me, I am not a young child and can look out for myself."  
  
"I dislike seeing anyone hurt you."  
  
"Why?" Estel asked not out of impudence or rebellion for rebellion's sake, but curiosity.  
  
"Because, Estel. . . " Elladan reached out to touch his cheek and Estel drew back. He was uncomfortable with physical contact, with anybody. Elladan's face darkened and his hand dropped. You know, he wanted to say, we love you, Estel. You know Elrohir and I and even Ada love you, and we care about you. What is it, Estel? What's happened to you? But all he said was, "Come on. We might miss it if we are late."  
  
"Miss what? Elladan, miss what?" Estel asked as Elladan turned and slowly walked away. Estel followed, wondering, but not asking. There was a loaded silence between the two. Elladan stopped at the foot of a tree, and motioned for Estel to climb up. "How high?" Elladan shrugged and tapped a branch near his face. Estel, being considerably shorter, scrambled up. Once he was safely on the branch, Elladan followed.  
  
Elladan took the bag from over his shoulder and took out a knife and a watermelon. He cut off a piece and offered it to Estel, who took it gratefully. Estel held the watermelon in one hand and the tree in the other, then opened his mouth and buried his face in the fruit. The juice spilled over and ran onto his tunic and pants, left sticky trails on his face. Elladan was smiling at him. "Why did we come here?" Estel asked.  
  
"To see the sun set," Elladan replied.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"To be reminded that the day is ending, so a new one might begin. Most Elves, they don't realize that each day we live is a gift. Each moment we have, to exist, to smile, to laugh, to cry, each moment is a true gift. One we should be thankful for, really, especially the moments we have to be with the people we love. Some of them. . .they might not be around for ever." Elladan stared off at the horizon as he spoke. Estel looked at his brother, who cried without tears, it seemed. Then Estel cried one single solitary tear, without sobs or any fuss, let it drip down from his cheek, and sat beside his brother until the stars came out.  
  
Back in his room, Estel could not bear to look in the mirror as he changed into his pyjamas. His healing wounds were not the badges they had been the night before, his "solution" no longer a true solution. "I want you gone," he said to the Voice. "Gone for good, and I mean it."  
  
"Estel. . .so young. So naïve," the Voice mocked. "Can you get on without me? Can you get on without your control?" After this last, drawn-out word, Estel noticed what he held in his hand. It was a knife. The blade was dull, but it would still do the work. "Go on, give it a whirl," the Voice said.  
  
"N-no!" Estel replied, fumbling at first, then his voice became level and sure. "I no longer need you, I will not turn to you for help any more."  
  
"All right. It looks as though you have won this time, my friend, Just one final time, for old times' sake? Just one quick good-by?"  
  
"No. No, not just one. Not one quick good-by. You ask for a good-by? Good- by. There, you have had it. Now leave, leave me be and never come back, ever, not to visit, not to check up on me. I never want to see you again, do you understand? Never again will I hear your Voice."  
  
There was silence, blessed silence. Then, much to Estel's dismay, a laughing sound filled the room. Estel bowed his head as another tear threatened. It felt as though a hurricane were ravaging the room, and he stood in the tiny eye of the storm, buffeted one way or another by winds when the storm had passed over him, now left in the terrible quiet knowing that it was only coming back.  
  
"Th-then, if you will not go of your will, I shall make you," Estel resolved, lifting his head timidly. He gritted his teeth and said, "Leave of your own will, or stay here, and dwindle into nothingness." Estel had grown bold, and by the time he finished his words rang with belief. The Voice seemed to disappear again, as though sucked out of the very air. Estel, drained, fell into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.  
  
When he awoke the next morning, Estel saw the world with a new hope in his chest. "If I look right, nothing is too bad. If I look at things the right way, nothing is as bad as I thought," he said in a jumbled happy state.  
  
But things went badly that day, for when one is trying a new style one must try very hard at it, and sometimes that trying can be very difficult. Estel learned this at breakfast as he dropped a pitcher, which clattered loudly to the ground, causing the boy to flinch. "All right, all right, calm down," he told himself. "Just a little thing. . ." Which it was, of course, for Estel was growing rapidly and unused to the exact form of his body.  
  
Estel missed the target he and Elrohir were shooting at as they practiced their archery that afternoon. His studies in mathematics had been going badly for weeks, and he could hardly untangle himself from the web of numbers with which he was faced. Nothing seemed to go rightly. By supper, Estel was exhausted from looking on the bright side all day. When he was asked to please pass something, he did not even hear the request fully. He handed over the first thing he grabbed.  
  
"Estel, that is a potato."  
  
"What? Ohh. . ." Estel tiredly corrected his mistake, irked by the smiles of his brothers at his mistake.  
  
"How are your studies coming along?" asked Elrond, genuinely interested, because he was worried by Estel's lack of progress.  
  
"I. . ." Estel searched for the right words to say, anything to account for his having come to such a complete stop. "I. . ."  
  
"You haven't improved, have you?" Elrond asked almost tiredly. It is not that he had unreasonable expectations, but he did expect something of his sons, and Estel's mind had started off quite quick. Why, now, did he slow? Was he just not trying enough? "If you would only half apply yourself--"  
  
"I do!" Estel interrupted. "I really try!"  
  
"Then why are you not getting anywhere?"  
  
"Because it's really hard!" Estel was almost shouting then, very upset that his intellect be called into question, and having reached the very end of his tether.  
  
"There is no need to raise your voice, Estel," said Elrond, calmly yet managing to convey anger.  
  
"If you would but listen--"  
  
"I am listening--"  
  
"You are not! If you were listening you would let me speak!" Estel jumped to his feet, overturning his chair in the process. "You never listen, but you always say you do! You have to let me talk sometimes! It doesn't do any good just to listen to yourself speak!" He felt quivery inside, and drew in a deep breath. "Listen to this," he said, then turned and walked out of the room.  
  
"That was. . .uncharacteristic," Elrohir commented, turning the attentions of his father and brother to him. He shrugged. "It was. No need to worry, Ada, it is only frustration. He did not mean what he said."  
  
Elrond nodded, but did not speak. Had Estel meant his words? Had he meant the tone of them? It was very possible, and Elrond had been worried about him lately, but what could he do? Estel was shutting everybody out. No one could force him to let them in, that was a decision he had to make for himself.  
  
"Ada? Estel is just growing up." Elrond looked up at his identical sons. They were good people, people he was proud of. And, Elrond realized, he was proud of them. They were moral, calm, intelligent Elves. "He will grow through this, also. It is just a phase."  
  
"Well. I hope so."  
  
Estel had had such hope, once. All his hope was scraped together as he stood, his fist clenching and unclenching, his eyes shut tight. "Go away," he sobbed, to no avail. "Go. . .leave me be!" His stomach quivered. His body felt as though it might explode. Estel wished he had not spoken to his father that way--Elrond was someone he loved and respected very much. Why had he gone off like that? He ought to just apologize. . .  
  
But Estel did not apologize. His stomach seemed to drop as he decided on what to do. He dragged the rough edge of the blade across his leg, gasping, loving the pain. When he took the blade away, there was no blood. He had not cut deep enough. Again and again Estel took blade to flesh, resulting in nothing but small scratches.  
  
"Ah!" he shouted, hiding the blade out of sight. All of that, all that trying, being so close and giving up, just for this? Just for a few useless swipes? No blood, even. All of the hurt, just for this? Looking back at his leg, Estel's mouth curled to a smile. Blood had appeared in small red droplets on all six of the new cuts. So there was one thing he did not do so wrong after all.  
  
*****  
  
No, that was NOT the end!! More coming up. Next chapter I've already started, so it should be quick. 


	8. Chapter VII

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Saera: That much I got, but what bunnies?  
  
Nihtfyr: The voice is. . .did you ever read I Never Promised You a Rose Garden? The voice is more or less Anterrabae in I Never Promised You A Rose Garden. If you haven't read that, then say so and I'll explain next chapter. Gone mad? One might argue so much, but then the definition of insanity is very, very shaky. Well, if people like Mary-Sues, it's all well and good for them, and those of us not liking them can simply not read them.  
  
Anonymous: Thank you. For sharing that, and for having the strength to get through it. Really, you are amazing. It is good to know that you are above all of that now.  
  
Lady of the Forest: Estel gets male cheerleaders. O. . .k. . .  
  
Writer from Rivendell: Well thank you. Yes, I am twelve. As for tragic or better. . .ups and downs, that's all I'll say.  
  
Knows all too well: Thanks. . .it's good to know it's helping others, because I don't think it is helping her.  
  
Lina Skye: Er. . .I'm sorry. . .I didn't mean to make anybody cry, or hurt anyone or anything.  
  
*****  
  
Elrohir returned bearing a leather portfolio, which he handed to Elladan, then positioned himself behind the bed, looking over Estel's shoulder. "Estel," Elladan said, "will you please just look at these?" He handed over the portfolio, which Estel took with question and with shaking hands.  
  
Slowly he opened the musty-smelling, slightly crack leather, and a gasp escaped his lips. He knew at once who the first picture was of; the charcoal on the parchment was not even slightly smudged, a sign of the artist's practice. In the picture, a small child was curled up, asleep, in a basket of laundry. Estel smiled as a tear slid down his cheek. It was him.  
  
*****  
  
Estel tried. He tried hard, and did his very best, but to no avail. With every solution he could think of, Estel made an attempt, a handful of last shots at quitting his self-abusive habits.  
  
The first thing Estel thought of was water. Of course, this began with him simply not hurting himself. When things got to be too much, he slipped away in the middle of the night, armed with a towel, and made his way down to a nearby river. Once there, he stripped off his clothes and jumped into the cold, cold water.  
  
The first time he tried this, Estel stood for ten minutes on the banks of the river, watching the waters. He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his leg with his toes. Fear crept into him, his chest tightening into a knot. Finally he gathered all his courage and made himself run forward and jump, trying to yell but finding himself unable to because of his intense fear. The shock of the temperature change was good for Estel. He wanted to shout as he swam a few quick laps, but managed to keep his silence.  
  
Shivering again on the banks, Estel toweled himself dry. He jumped from foot to foot as he slid back into his clothes, then made his way back to his bed, wishing he had thought to bring shoes. The moon was clear that night, and in its bright light Estel had an easy job of finding his way home.  
  
On his next trip, Estel remembered shoes but forgot a towel. Worst of all, his absence was noticed: when he returned to his window, intending to climb through just as he had the time before, he found it closed. It was easy enough to enter the house through a door, but now, Estel knew, he was in for it. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside. . .  
  
No one needed to call Estel for him to know where to go. He could see his father sitting at the table in the dining hall. Standing before the Elven Lord, dripping wet, shoes squelching with every step he took, Estel choked out, "G-good evening, Ada."  
  
"Where were you?" Elrond asked at once, seething yet containing his anger.  
  
"I was at the river--"  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Ah. . .swimming?" Estel ventured. After all, how else would he be so wet, and it was the truth. After that night, Estel was not allowed out of his room after he went to bed, for any reason. This was a rule he followed, because he knew that if he did not he would be locked in. Somehow, Estel knew, he would have to think up a new solution.  
  
*****  
  
"The next one, I think you'll like it. . ." Elladan began, turning the parchment to show a picture of the same boy, only smaller now, trying very hard to get up a flight of stairs, despite the fact that a single stair dwarfed him. Estel saw his life in those pictures. He saw his merriment at the merciless tickling of his brothers. He saw himself in tears with skinned knees and elbows. Why had Elladan chosen to draw that? Estel was glad he had chosen it. That drawing was just as important as the one of a boy grinning hugely as he stood on his hands, as the boy asleep in the morning, as the boy pale-faced but dry-eyed at his first sparring injury.  
  
*****  
  
Estel began closing his eyes. He would imagine he was someplace else, someplace happier, easier, calmer. Never having left Imladris, Estel had some trouble with this. Often he remembered the time he and Elladan had watched the sun set. Sometimes he thought of running through the forest, but never having actually done this and noticed his surroundings, that was not an easy task.  
  
About this time, Estel began creating his own fantasy world. There were plenty of people in it, but they were all the same. Everyone was kind and gentle, and there was no fighting or teasing, no one put anyone else down. Two days passed before Estel realized the complete and utter impossibility of this world, and it depressed him so much that he left the world behind, never thought about it again, and promptly forgot it.  
  
Places failed Estel. The number of gashes on his legs was increasing steadily. Soon he would begin on his arms, he knew, because he could not go on without the knife. The release of slitting his own flesh was so immense, the focused pain felt so good--! Estel knew he could not stop, but he tried anyway. He challenged himself to stop.  
  
*****  
  
"But you still did not answer my question," Estel said, trying hard not to cry again. "Why, Elladan? Why all these pictures?"  
  
"Because, Estel. Because of you."  
  
*****  
  
Then something amazing happened: Estel did it. He stopped hurting himself. It did not take sneaking out for a midnight swim or imagining himself to be someplace else. All it took for Estel to stop abusing himself was that fateful emotion which makes us all human: guilt.  
  
Estel did not even tell anyone what he was doing. The sight alone of those he loved was enough to make him sick with guilt and hatred for what he had done. Why it was that this had never happened before Estel could not say, but one morning at breakfast he could not eat for these emotions. After that, Estel stopped. He laid down his knife and stopped using it against himself.  
  
*****  
  
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Author's note: That wasn't the ending. . .more coming soon. 


	9. Chapter VIII

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof.  
  
Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long. I meant to have it out sooner, but school got so crazy. . .  
  
Writer From Rivendell: Oh, don't worry. No matter how much Estel suffers, and I do not yet know how much that will be, but by the end of this story, either he will be safe, or there will be a sequel. Yeah, guilt's a terror. It is amazing, the power of one's own heart.  
  
Lady of the Forest: Hurting a rock is not exactly going to help him. . .  
  
MusicGrl: I was twelve. Had a recent birthday. I'm thirteen now. But I'll take that as a compliment, anyway! No, she isn't. She's still cutting. She hides it by keeping safety pins in her underwear and only cutting on her legs. She's a terror in a swimsuit. Things are really bad for her right now. But thank you for your concern.  
  
Anonymous: I'm glad you are over that, and thanks.  
  
Nethene Khthon: Thanks. I'm not American myself, but it does not surprise me that Americans often have self-esteem problems, because frankly everybody everywhere often has self-esteem problems. Thanks from my friend, and from me.  
  
KitKatGirl: Not the Flintstones vitamins, those are good. Do they make those anymore? I took them when I was younger.  
  
Knows all too well: I know, I know. . .**is very guilty**. . .school got crazy and. . .yeah. No, I've never heard that song. That's okay, yammer all you like. And no more relapses! Have hope!  
  
*****  
  
"What am I going to do, Elladan?" Estel asked, trying hard not to cry.  
  
"I. . .I do not honestly know," Elladan replied. Estel's chin trembled. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Fine, I'm fine. . .Elrohir? Would you insult the Dwarves, please?" Estel and Elrohir had an ongoing debate--really more of a joke--about the Dwarves. Elrohir hated them, Estel defended them.  
  
"Uh. . .the, uh. . .the Dwarves cannot make weaponry to save their lives, and that is a fact."  
  
"No, it is not a fact! It is not a fact, because without Dwarves axes and mail all you would have would be your stupid. . .stupid noldor-made bows, and then the Orcs would get close to you and kill you all because of your useless noldor-made weapons!" Estel ranted, but even as he did so he cried. Defeated, he turned to Elladan, who gently took the boy under his arm and allowed him to cry safely for as long as he needed.  
  
*****  
  
It was Haldir's fault. The truth of the matter is that it was Haldir's fault. He did not know what was going on, truly, and had no idea what he was meddling in. Nevertheless--it happened.  
  
Estel and Glorfindel got on well by this time. Most of the time they were teacher and pupil, sometimes almost friends, but always on good terms. One particular day, about three months after Estel had decided to stop hurting himself, he ran into Glorfindel in the corridor. "Hello there, Estel."  
  
"Hello Glorfindel."  
  
"You have to go this way," Glorfindel informed him, pointing to his left.  
  
"But it would be quicker for me to get to my destination going that way," Estel argued, pointing about ninety degrees right of where Glorfindel had suggested.  
  
"I'm sorry, Estel, you need to go the other way."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"That's none of your business."  
  
"Why are you being so mean? Yes, it is my business, you have just redirected me and I want to know why!"  
  
"And it is not your place to ask me. You are a child, Estel, do not forget that simply because of your father--"  
  
"That is not why!" Estel said, angry. "I just want to know why I have to go a different way, is it so hard to tell me? It is not as though I mean to hurt anybody, I just want to know! Sheesh!" After this rant he turned and he walked off, saying, "You expect direct obedience. What do you think this is, the Second Age?"  
  
Just then Haldir happened to have entered the hall, and with his acute Elven hearing, he had overheard everything. "Now I am offended," he stated, giving Estel a cold feeling in his very heart. "Excuse me, young Elf, come here a moment."  
  
Estel found no reason to obey. He was not an Elf, and therefore the blonde Elf--Estel did not yet know his name--was not talking to him. He kept walking until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and Haldir spun him around. "Why did you not listen to me? I asked you to come here," Haldir stated.  
  
"No, you asked a young Elf to come to you," Estel replied, angry enough to spit, and he tugged back his hair to reveal rounded ears.  
  
"You knew I meant you--"  
  
"As the only edan in Imladris? No, I didn't."  
  
"Well, boy, this may not be the Second Age, but let me tell you something: yes, we do expect obedience. You are a child and, as we are adults, that places us in the position of authority, and whether you like it or not you have to accept that."  
  
"I know--"  
  
Haldir took no note of him. "And also, simply because we are people, a little courtesy is expected."  
  
Here Estel was ready to fold his arms across his chest and ask if this Elf if he was owed the same courtesy. His thoughts flashed to Anterrabae, and he was ready to tell that Lothlorien Elf exactly what he thought of him and his ideals, when he was interrupted by Elrond. "Oh, Haldir, I see you have met Estel," Elrond said, as this were a very good thing.  
  
"Yes," Haldir replied, locking eyes with Estel. Estel glared right back, unfortunately quite noticeably.  
  
"Oh, Estel, do not do that! Haldir is a guest, be polite," Elrond told him. Estel rolled his eyes and bowed, lying through his teeth that he was more than glad to meet Haldir, and had he enjoyed being in Imladris?  
  
For the rest of the day Estel thought little of this confrontation, although he had cried a bit once he was clear of it. Then that night, as he exhaustedly closed his book and blew out the candle he had lit, his eyes closed, and played back that terrible moment. Estel felt warm all over again, felt the pain and the anger and the humiliation. Why were children inferior? he wondered. I just wanted to know why I had to go somewhere else! His thoughts surged onwards. Estel could not see where he had gone wrong.  
  
He groaned and pulled the pillow and covers over his head, shivering, until he was nothing but a lump of cloth that moved quite quickly back and forth. Hot tears seeped through his closed eyelids, matting his lashes together. Cold laughter rang in his ears. Was it an echo, or was it a premonition? Estel tried to ignore it, but it would not go away. Finally he threw back the covers and sprang from the bed, dashing out into the corridor.  
  
Estel's feet slapped the cold corridor floor, making quite a lot of noise. The cold hit him by the time he was half-way down the hall, nearing his brothers' rooms. The boy shivered all over, the fear-anger shivers of earlier and cold, wishing he had thought to dress properly. There was a metal pin in his underpants, and against his skin it felt like ice. He kept metal pins in all of his underclothes, claiming he was afraid he would rip his pants whenever they were found--which was not often.  
  
"Elrohir," Estel called softly, hoping not to wake up anyone but his brother, knocking on the door. "Elrohir!" No one came. After a few moments he tried again. Elves, he knew, were light sleepers. Did Elrohir not hear him? As loud as he dared, Estel called out, "Elrohir!"  
  
When again no one came, Estel turned away. He padded back down the hall, shut his door, got into bed, and closed his eyes. Go to sleep, he told himself, and just as he was falling into a deep darkness, the face of the Lothlorien Elf appeared before him. "No!" Estel gasped, sitting up. He slipped the pin out of his underclothes and pressed it into the soft flesh of his arm, drawing it across. . .  
  
Estel did not even need blood. He cut into a place where fat lay beneath the flesh, and that hurt terribly. Sighing, Estel let his head loll backwards. After six gashes, three on his arm and three on his leg, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.  
  
*****  
  
TBC 


	10. Chapter IX

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

Knows All Too Well: I looked at the lyrics, but they don't mean much. I think maybe with the song they would mean more. For my friend's story (self-mutilation, but Legolas not Aragorn) she is using the song 'Will You Remember Me', but that's only because it was at her graduation.

Saera: WHAT BUNNIES???

*****

When Estel stopped crying, he looked to his brother, and a new wave of tears washed over him, but there were none left to cry, and so he only whimpered. "I never meant to hurt any body!" he wailed. "It was never meant to get so out of hand!"

"Estel. . ." said Elladan, realizing, "that time you were playing outside, when you came inside with that terrible gash on your arm, how did you get that cut?"

"I. . ." Estel tried to recall. When was it? Ah, he remembered: it had been about six months ago. "I was playing in the trees and I fell," he replied. "My arm caught. . .the skin snagged and it ripped."

"Are you sure?" Elladan asked. "Because I think--this is just a hunch, but I _think_, you were not playing in the trees that day. I was suspicious when your clothing was not torn, and you did not have any leaves in your hair. Tell me, Estel, were you playing in the trees, or did you put that cut their yourself?"

"I. . ." again Estel stopped himself. He did not want to lie to Elladan, but then, he also did not want to tell the truth. He did not want to hurt anybody. It was never meant to affect anyone but him. "It is not as though. . ."

"It isn't?" asked Elladan in tones of mock surprise. "Come on, Estel, tell us the truth!"

"I can't!"

"Why in Arda not? We only want to help you, estel, but if you will not let us in--"

"Then I cannot hurt you!"

"You are hurting us by keeping us out!"

Before Estel replied, his mind began to work again. Responding in truth, telling Elladan that if he let him know Elladan would hate him, did not seem like the best option. Estel decided he needed to buy himself time, he knew he did, he needed to compose a good lie for himself, a decent story. "Elladan," he said in as calm and level a voice as he could manage, "I think right now I am just a bit upset about. . .about what happened with my hand. . .could we maybe talk later, when I have had a chance to calm down?"

Elladan knew this for a lie, yet he could not deny the impeccable logic. "Yes, of course, Estel," he replied. "You should rest, you are hurt, after all."

"Thank you, Elladan," Estel said gratefully. Once his brothers had left, closing the door behind them, Estel shook his head, then closed his eyes and dreamed.

"Elrohir?" Elladan asked, in the hall. Elrohir held up a small knife, snitched from beneath Estel's pillow. "You realized, as well, then?"

"Ages ago," Elrohir replied.

"And you never reacted?"

"What would I have done? Elladan, you know as well as I that Estel is in a bad way right now. But when did you begin to suspect he was a self-mutilator?" Elrohir asked.

"About two minutes ago, why?"

"Oh, Elladan. You never saw it, did you? Estel has been at this for years, ever since. . .Valar, when. . .the days when he would fight with the Elfling children."

"Why did you never act?" Elladan asked again. "I still do not understand."

"And I do not expect you to," replied Elrohir. Then, as though he had not spoken before, "I just remembered the time when Estel was learning how to skate on ice. . .remember? He had blisters all over his feet by the end of an hour, and tried to teach himself, he refused to accept any help from us. It had to be him figuring things out for himself. Estel is just that way, Elladan. He needs to sort through his own problems and find his own solutions."

"Elrohir," Elladan returned, "his solution is self-injury! Do _you_ not remember that, at the end of that day, he gave in? Do you not remember that he left the ice and used salves on his blisters, then asked us a week later to teach him? How could you keep this to yourself for so long? How could you let him suffer?"

"There are things you do not understand--"

"Enlighten me."

Elrohir shook his head slowly, and Elladan's eyes grew wide. "Elrohir, tell me you do not!"

"I do not," Elrohir replied. "But." Then he walked very slowly away. 

Elladan remained outside of Estel's room, thinking. What was he going to do? Finally he hardened his heart, in an act of incredible falsity, and decided if Estel wanted to be left alone, he ought to be left alone.

*****

TBC


	11. Chapter X

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Saera: Wow, that is frightening.  
  
Knows All Too Well: Hey, keep it up! Way to go! And no, not Elrond, though that is an idea. You'll see. Mwuhahaha.  
  
SecretScribe: Nope, not forgotten, I just have a lot of stories on various pen-names right now and am working on. . .too many. Yes, they do know.  
  
*****  
  
For two weeks Estel was naught but a wraith. For two weeks he copied the motions of life. For two weeks he waited, unsure, then laughed if someone else did, to seem healthy and normal. For two weeks, Estel would lie awake at night and stare into the darkness, wondering what the purpose was in it all, and hoping and praying that he would not wake up the next morning. For two weeks Estel awoke the next morning.  
  
And then one day, about a week after the bandage had been removed from Estel's hand, it rained. It started as just a drizzle, then the wind rose and howled. Heavy droplets splattered everything they could, everything unprotected. By afternoon, the sky was darkened with clouds and the rain fell in buckets. Elrond had spent the first part of the day in his study alone, at work, and was still there, but now his sons were with him. Estel had been the first to arrive, just after the rain switched from drizzle to rain, and sat down before the fire. By the time the rain began to pour, Estel was stretched like a cat on the hearth, Elladan sat by his head drawing, and Elrohir sat opposite his father at the desk, offering his assistance.  
  
Suddenly Estel realized, no, knew that today was the day. He knew, the knowledge all at once in his head, that today was the day his fate was decided, the day all of it ended, for good or ill. Estel sat up, yawned, and said, "I am going to take a nap." He did not add that he would see them all at supper, nor did he add any good-byes. Estel wished himself to have bade no good-byes, for he would likely have not a purpose in them. There was a chance.  
  
As if in a dream and yet sharply aware, Estel left the room and turned left, towards the river, in the opposite direction of his room. Elladan watched him go, then returned to his work. In a moment he had finished his drawing. He too stood and headed for the door. "Where are you going?" Elrond asked, curious.  
  
"I wish to show Estel my picture."  
  
"You ought not disturb him, Elladan, I think he may be ill," Elrond cautioned. "Go, but with a care."  
  
"Yes, Ada," Elladan replied. He left the study, and turned right, heading towards Estel's room. When he reached it, he was surprised to find the door open. That was odd; Estel preferred a closed door. Ah, well. Elladan went in, quiet, so as not to disturb Estel. There was no purpose, he saw that quickly, for Estel was not in his room at all.  
  
Elrohir looked up as Elladan stormed back into the study. "Elrohir, get up," Elladan said.  
  
"What--"  
  
"I need to talk to you, get up," Elladan repeat. Elrohir did, curious, and followed Elladan into the corridor.  
  
"Elladan, what--?  
  
"You said not to interfere," Elladan hissed. "Well, Elrohir, Estel is not in his room. Where is he? I know you know. Tell me, where is he?"  
  
"Elladan," Elrohir replied, "I suspect he is only searching for a lost item, or perhaps his pyjamas. You know how forgetful Estel can be, there is no need for alarm."  
  
"Yes. . .yes, you are likely right," Elladan replied. Elrohir nodded, and Elladan continued, "But we both know that you suspect he is elsewhere. Where, Elrohir? Tell me. Tell me how you know all of this, and tell me everything you know."  
  
Elrohir was torn. He realized then how his twin cared, how desperate Elladan was. Long ago Elrohir had sworn himself to secrecy, but there were little things, perhaps. . .things that would not be breaking his swear. "Come on," Elrohir said, taking Elladan's wrist and leading him right out into the rain.  
  
When Elladan and Elrohir stopped they were beside the river. Elladan looked across the water, much to his horror, he saw Estel. He was perched on the opposite the twins, at a particular place where the shore dropped away, and there was a sheer drop of about six feet to the churning waters below. Estel stood, focused to a disturbing degree. He was not wearing his cloak or jacket, and the rain was washing over him, but he seemed to take no notice.  
  
Before Elladan could cry out, Estel bent his knees--and jumped into the water. And then Elladan did scream, as Estel plummeted six feet and broke into the water. Elladan screamed all of his fear and his anger and his denial. He was frightened that Estel would not survive or that he would be hurt; he was angry with Elrohir for not bringing him here earlier; and he denied--a part of him denied--that any of it was truly happening.  
  
Estel broke through the surface into the water. It shocked him, suddenly, and his eyes flew wide open. The sun shone through the clouds into the water, bright despite rain-laden film, and as Estel drifted downwards he watched that light. It occurred to him, on some level, how strange it was that all the violence above was deleted below, and that he found such peace down here. A rushing sound filled his ears, but a lazy rush. He knew extreme peace. Estel closed his eyes--and all of a sudden, he wanted to live. As he drowned, Estel decided that he would rather live.  
  
"I'm going after him," Elladan said, beginning to unlace his boots.  
  
"No," Elrohir said.  
  
"Yes, Elrohir, I am!" Elladan insisted, continuing to unlace his boots. He lost patience and kicked them off, then ran to the river. Before he reached it, Elrohir grabbed him from behind and held him. "What are you doing, Elrohir? Do you want our brother to die?" Elladan shouted, already soaked through with rain.  
  
"If he needs to!" Elrohir shouted back. Elladan drew away from his brother, staring in shock. "Estel is challenging himself, Elladan. He has taken to the waters now. If instinct kicks in he will live, and he will be well again. If he climbs out of that river, he will tell Ada what is wrong and he will fight it. If he does not climb out of that river, well, Elladan, in that case he has found another peace."  
  
"How do you know all this?" Elladan asked, tears running down his cheeks. He would not go after Estel. His heart now stirred him against it. "You told me that you do not!"  
  
"I do not," Elrohir replied. "But, Elladan. . ." Elrohir began to twitch uncomfortably. "I have had my own little swim," Elrohir said, and rolled up his sleeves to reveal scars Elladan never knew he had. They were faded, but still visible with Elven eyesight. Elladan gaped at his brother, feeling betrayed. "It has been centuries," Elrohir said.  
  
"'Ro. . ."  
  
"Elladan, look!"  
  
The boy hit the bottom of the river and propelled himself back upwards, kicking up a cloud of dirt and silt. Estel pumped his arms behind his head and kicked hard with his feet, making for the surface. This was it. He could feel it. His lungs were burning, but he knew he was going to make it! Estel's head clashed with what felt like a brick wall--and he felt raindrops falling on his face. He had done it. He was still alive, and everything was going to be all right.  
  
But Estel had forgotten the rain. The river waters swelled and thrashed him about, throwing him this way and that. Looking about, Estel saw that there would be no ascending those steep banks. Seventy or so yards down there were no more cliff-like drops, and there Estel might exit. He gulped in a breath of air, and ducked back under the water, fighting to swim. It took all of his strength, and seemed as though there was no hope-- but Estel did not give up. He took another breath and dipped under the water for another bout of swimming. His muscles burned, but he ignored it and kept on going. This was his life he was fighting for.  
  
Elrohir had seen Estel's head bobbing up and down, and the twins ran to the river. "Estel!" they cried. "Estel!" But to no avail; he could not hear them over the storm. They ran alongside the river until they came to a thicket of bushes too thick for them to run through, and they had to carefully pick their way around them to avoid getting any nasty cuts from the thorns. When they broke through the thicket, it was to be greeted with the sight of a soggy edan child pulling himself from the river, struggling to stand, stammering about on the lowest bank. Elladan ran to him, and caught Estel as he fell.  
  
"Elladan," Estel gasped. "I--"  
  
"Hush, Estel. We already know; quiet now."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Shh. Come on, Estel, we are taking you back to Ada now." Elladan lifted Estel into his arms and began to make his way back to the Last Homely House. 


	12. Chapter XI

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

Lady of the Forest: Well, you weren't supposed to expect it! He doesn't any longer, but he used to, many years ago.

Knows all too well: Well, you know what, more power to you for getting up again, and keep going. Don't let the bad things win, right?

Kaimelieamin: Fucking hell. Sorry, it's just…wow. You are…amazingly brave and strong for surviving that and this is going to sound really, really stupid and corny, but now that it's over, please try to believe there is something better for you! Please don't give in, don't let exhaustion take you unawares. Don't do something you won't live to remember. As for my friend, you can tell her yourself. You haven't figured it out by now? You know her! Guess.

Lady Laughing Owl: Eowyn, isn't it? Why do you hope Estel's okay? You know this story better than I do, silly goose. Or perhaps, silly Faffoo?

Author's Note: Elrohir's speech in this chapter is another of my little 'experiments' with blank verse.

*****

Elladan ran up to the Last Homely House, just a stride ahead of his twin brother, and burst through the door, shouting, "Ada, Ada!" as loud as he could. Adrenaline alone kept him moving, the weight of the sopping wet brother in his arms otherwise would have been too much for him over such a distance and at such a speed. But on that day, normal limitations were not relevant, it seemed. Estel had made it through the river; he had contested death and won. Elrohir had admitted a secret he had kept hidden for more than a millennium. Elladan had sprinted all the way up to the Last Homely House with breath enough to scream.

"Elladan, what--Valar, what happened to him?" asked Elrond, taking Estel from Elladan at once. He did not wait for an explanation, but turned and continued down the corridor.

"Estel--fell into the river," Elladan lied quickly, following after Elrond. Elrohir shot his brother a look, but allowed the lie to remain not refuted.

"Ada," said Estel in a very weak voice.

"Shh, Estel," Elrond told him, and Estel obeyed, closing his eyes but not giving way to sleep. The four entered Estel's room, and Elrond placed the boy on the floor, leaning him against the dresser.

"Wait!" Elladan said, realizing what was about to happen. He could hardly believe he had said anything, but he could not take back what had been done. Elrond gave him a strange look, and Elladan bit his lip, searching for an explanation. "I…"

"Why?" Estel asked from the floor, his voice little more than a moan. "Why are you lying for me, Elladan? Why are you not angry?"

Elrond glanced between his sons and stood up stiffly. "It seems you have something to discuss; I will leave you until you have finished. Elladan, get Estel dried off and put him to bed. Estel, you do not have to sleep, but you must rest. You will be all right." With this he left the room, knowing that when the boys needed to talk, it was best to allow them to. 

"Elrohir, go and fetch a towel, would you?" Elladan asked.

"Bottom drawer," Estel muttered. "Behind me, in the dresser. Used to swim at midnight…" Elladan moved his brother and slid open the drawer, quickly pulled out the towel and replaced Estel. Without speech Elladan began peeling off Estel's tunic. The boy took over the job, not caring if his brother saw his scars, though he winced at Elladan's gasp. Shaking his head, Estel kicked out of his trousers to reveal yet more scars on his legs. He began to take the towel, but Elladan wouldn't allow it.

"I'm to look after you," he said. "You really are pale," he commented, trying to sound normal.

"Don't fake it," Estel replied, and so without further discussion Elladan dried off his brother as best he could and helped the young one into his flannels, then helped him over to the bed. Once Estel was beneath the covers he felt himself drifting off to sleep, but fought tiredness and tried to stay awake.

"You need to tell him, Estel," Elladan said to his brother. "Ada needs to know."

"What do I need to know?" asked Elrond worriedly. "I apologize if I have interrupted, Elrohir told me it was all right to come back--"

"No, it is fine," Elladan replied. "Estel and I have nothing further to say to each other." He stepped coldly away from the bed and moved to the door, beside Elrohir. Curiously, Elrond sat beside Estel on the bed.

"Are you all right?" Elrond asked, stroking Estel's hair.

"Ada, I didn't fall into the river," Estel replied.

Elrond nodded. "I had a feeling that might have been so."

Estel searched for the right words to say. "I--I wrote you a letter," he recalled suddenly. "When I was eleven years old." Shifting to a sitting position, Estel pulled his pillow out of its pillowcase, remembering for the first time the sloppily stitched corner. He ripped open the pillow and pulled out the letter, then handed it to Elrond. "When you didn't read it I was mad." Then he was quiet while he watched his father's eyes flicker across the lines of untidy scrawl, then impassively folded the letter and placed it in his pocket.

"I wish you had given me this two years ago," Elrond said at last, "but we cannot change the past, only the future. Has this continued since you wrote the letter?" Estel nodded mutely. Elrond turned to the twins. "You knew?" Their faces displayed that this was true.

"Elladan just learned a couple of weeks ago. I have known for years." With this such introduction, Elrohir spoke:

"The boy has learned the infatuation

this ever present knowledge that he

in his lie of a retreat or safety 

has committed the one act that should not 

under any circumstance be done. 

He has learned the exquisite torture of 

the blade, pain for only to end the pain 

the anguish of knowing what he has done 

and that very anguish driving him to, 

in attempt to end the pain of his cure,

do that which brings to him this infernal,

this ever-lasting and all-consuming

pain in his mind and this pain in his heart,

and indeed this pain in his very soul. 

He knows now what comes of loving the wind,

which temptress unequaled seduces us,

teases us and promises us, yet keeps

said redemption held just beyond our grasp.

The wind, so inconsistent yet ever

so consistently sadistic to us

fools so stupid as to listen to her,

who is friend at dawn but abandons--why

we know not. We cling for comfort to her

and she will embrace us, know us that she,

with her many faces, may destroy us.

He has loved she who is here and gone, who

may by no man be tamed and made to stay,

and he has suffered her leaving as he,

and any he who strays to follow her,

must inevitably do. She is gone.

She is gone, and will not be coming back."

With that Elrohir turned and, looking fiercely upon his younger brother, said, "We will not let her."

"Elrohir, if you and Elladan would, please leave us for a moment?" Elrond asked, shaken by his son's speech.

"Of course," said Elrohir, who had by this time strayed to the window. Indeed, half his speech was given staring out into the natural world. "Come, brother," he said to his twin at the door, and they left the room, leaving Estel and Elrond alone in silence.

"Why did you do it, Estel?" Elrond asked. "The letter says that you are sorry for fighting, and that you felt upset and sought release. I understand this, but why? Why did you not come to me?"

"Because you were disappointed," Estel replied in a shaking voice. "You were so…your eyes were dead the day I started, when you caught me fighting, and I saw the bruises fading. The bruises tell of my failure, and so I wrote a clearer story. Then any time I felt lousy or upset, I knew I could just pull out my knife and there was release. It was so--" here Estel swore, to emphasize "--easy. I felt awful for what I had done, but was driven back to it again and again. I had a clean period, then after the day with Haldir…I'm sorry I failed you, Ada," Estel finished, crying.

"No, Estel, no, you have not failed me!" Elrond exclaimed, taking the sobbing boy and holding him tightly. For a while Estel when on, running himself down and insisting if he had only been a better, stronger person none of this would have happened, saying he was sorry and undeserving of his family's love. Finally Elrond stopped him. "Estel, stop this. You are a good person, and a deserving person. Even if you do not wish for us to love you, Estel, you cannot stop us. We care about you. We just want to see you well. And no matter how bad things get to be for you, we will always be there beside you, no matter what. That's what family is."

At this Estel began to sob harder, and shook. For a long time he continued, in his Ada's arms, shaking with sobs, and feeling that it was all right, that he was safe, and everything was going to be all right.


	13. Chapter XII

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

Author's note: I'm so sorry this took so long to post!

*****Epilogue*****

__

Elladan, my brother, says there are steps to healing. The first step, he says, is to admit your problem. I have done this. It hurt.

The second step, Elladan says, is to face your problem and to accept that you wish to move on from it. I think I did this first, when I jumped in the river. That day I decided to live, whether I wished to or not.

Then, the third step, the hardest step, comes, when we must face the world with our problem, first within, and then without. It proved challenging enough to walk through the hall of Imladris knowing of my failings, but I did. Day after day I continued as though nothing had changed. When this became routine I stood in my room before the mirror and took a deep breath, then stripped off my tunic. The scars were there. I walked the halls of Imladris in this manner, and I knew I was free.

Elrohir, my brother, says there is no such thing as an ex-cutter. It is an addiction, he says, and though it lies dormant it never disappears. When things are rough, when times are harsh, we are always tempted by the presence of any sharp object.

I don't care. I'm stronger.

Life is difficult, he tells me, and will afford you no mercies. You will be shunned when you speak freely of your history and judged.

I don't care. I'm stronger.

A day will come when you must face this past, when you are naked in the darkness of despair, and you will face every demon of your past, made all the more vicious by the starvation you have exposed it to. No one may stand beside you then, no one may aid you. Truly, you will be alone.

All right, Elrohir, you win: I do care. I do not savor the coming of this day, but neither do I fear. There is no call for fear. I'm stronger. And I always will be.

*****

THE END

This story will have no sequel. It doesn't need one. It's over.

Author's note: I write a lot about self-injury. If anyone wants to read some of my other self-injury stories, let me know. If you ever want to talk, especially cutters, seek me out on AIM. Self-mutilation does not have to run your life.


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